A Song of Ice and Fire: Family, Duty, Honor
by Gehenna79
Summary: Alternate Universe. Tywin Lannister survived the attempt on his life by Tyrion, and has to deal with the threat of Tyrells, Baratheons, Boltons, Greyjoys, and Targaryens as Tommen's Hand. My first ASOIAF fic.
1. Tywin 1

**A Song of Ice and Fire: Family, Duty, Honor**

* * *

**Tywin**

The Lord of Casterly Rock was not dead.

His demon spawn, the Imp known as Tyrion Lannister, had thought he had slain his father. But the quarrel that had come from the crossbow Tyrion had wielded cleaved through the side of Tywin, causing him to lose blood. The Imp got away, believing that his father would bleed out before long. But Tywin was made of much stronger stuff than that. He may have been known to shit gold, but in reality he was made out of hard steel.

One of his green eyes opened, his body aching, and the left side of his torso was numb. He looked to see the bandage. He must have been in a sorry state when they had found him; shot in the side with a quarrel, naked after bedding Tyrion's favorite whore, found lying a slump in the privy. Tywin wondered how they even figured he was in trouble when they found him. Few people would ever disturb the privacy of the great Tywin Lannister. _Cersei,_ thought the old lion, _she probably had them search the whole place looking for the bastard_.

The creak of a door sounded out and Tywin looked to the noise, and in walked two people. One of them was a Septon clad in a grey roughspun robe, someone that Tywin wasn't familiar with, and the other person was a face he knew too well, his disappointing, arrogant, crippled, son, Jaime Lannister, also known as the Kingslayer.

With a head of hair that was only just beginning to grow back, a light coating of blonde fuzz, green eyes just like Tywin's own, and over his body he wore a suit of steel armor with the white cloak of the Kingsguard dragging behind him. The Septon was old and fat, with simpleton's eyes, large enough that they made him seem extremely gullible. There was a lot to tell of a person from just their eyes, Tywin knew.

"You," said Tywin, gritting his teeth in anger.

"Me," said Jaime.

"Is this Septon here necessary?" asked Tywin, "What is he here for?"

"Humbly, Lord Hand," said the Septon, "My name is Torbault, if it please you m'lord. I am known for my healing arts. I came to King's Landing with the flock of Sparrows. You have been abed for a week so you have not heard of our order. We are devout brothers from all over the land who have come to the Great Sept of Baelor to congregate and work for peace."

"I see," was all Tywin said.

"I am sure father and son have quite a bit to talk about, and I will not keep you long, but I must take a look at the wound, to make sure it is not infected. We have done much, but it was a few hours before we found you."

Tywin prepared himself for the Septon's grasp, and grimaced a little as the Septon peeled the soiled bandages off. The cut was healing, and no sign of infection was there, but the skin had been torn profusely when they had removed the quarrel.

"My Lord Hand, your vitality persists," said Torbault happily, "And with a few more days of bed rest, you will be able to return to the land of the living."

"The realm doesn't have a few days," said Tywin with a grunt, "But I will not question a healing man. But no sooner than that."

"As you wish, my lord," said Torbault with a bow, and he then left the room, leaving the Kingslayer and his father alone. A deep silence gripped the room, leaving neither able to speak, until finally Jaime said, "Tyrion is gone."

"I didn't expect that he would be staying around, not unless he lost all his wits. This is the last straw, I have a daughter who fancies herself a son, and is almost as mad as Aerys. I have you, who is completely incapable of fulfilling our family's legacy, but this, this is the final insult," Tywin spat, "My own son, even if he was deformed, and even if I showed him no love, I provided his life, I gave him luxury, I gave him status, I gave him nobility. And this is how he repays me. No, he will not get away with this. I will take care of him, someday, before I die I will repay him for what he had wrought."

Another silence came about until Jaime said sardonically, "A rousing speech, father."

Tywin fumed but said nothing, "What has happened while I have been out?"

"Nothing, but I got you the Septon. I don't trust Cersei's man, Qyburn. He was ex-communicated out of the Citadel. And he's completely loyal to her."

Tywin never laughed but grinned the slightest of grins, "You're insane if you think she would try and harm me."

"Tyrion was pretty convinced she wanted him dead at the Battle of Blackwater," said Jaime, "I wouldn't have put it past her. She lusts for power like Robert lusted for women."

"No news there," said Tywin, "But she is no kinslayer. For the moment anyway. You're efforts were unfounded but never the less...I appreciate your...concern," that was very hard for Tywin to say.

Jaime laughed softly, "Was that gratitude father?"

"The only gratitude you need is that I survived, so that the Realm isn't under the firm control of the Tyrells now."

"Well, if that's all, do you have any orders for me? Or should I go back to doing what I do best?"

"You mean guarding the king's privy? Don't let me keep you from that."

Jaime scowled and said, "Rest well, father."

Jaime left him in the room and said nothing else. Tywin laid there for a little while, then eventually drifted off to sleep. When he woke up, he found his room dark, and a shadowy figure was standing in the corner. Two green eyes came out into the moonlight that fell through the glass window pane and revealed the buxom figure of Cersei Lannister.

Tywin immediately frowned, "Cersei."

"Father," she said, her voice meek and humble, or as meek and humble as Cersei could be, "It is so good to see you healthy."

"I doubt that, my survival must have been such an inconvenience for the Queen Regent."

"What are you talking about?"

"Jaime seemed to be convinced you would have much to gain if I was dead. So convinced that he had his own healer come in and check in on me."

Cersei sighed and rolled her eyes, "Jaime has become quite eccentric lately. The Riverlands changed him."

"No doubt, who knows what Catelyn Stark did to him while in her care. But he is a Lannister. He should be stronger. Still, he brings up a good point."

"What," Cersei gave out forced laughter, "That I would harm you? We both know you're needed to rule the kingdom for Tommen."

"Of course, and I will get back to doing that, as soon as I am able, which according to the Septon, shouldn't be too long."

"Good, there is no doubt the Realm needs you. We need to get the Vale of Arryn and the Iron Islands back in our fold, and then deal with Stannis Baratheon as well."

"That is my responsibility," said Tywin coolly, "Your responsibility will be to marry again, once I find a functional suitor."

Cersei flushed with rage, "I will not, marriage to that oaf Robert Baratheon was a hell I will not revisit again."

"You are young enough to bear children, and we need alliances. If you are even half as smart as you think you are, you will realize that this is the proper way and the proper purpose for you. Will you defy me as Jaime has? He has chosen destruction of our family."

Cersei scowled, the same exact scowl as Jaime's and she merely got up and before she left she said, "I will save our family. I love it more than anyone. But I will be the master of my own fate from now on. Recover well father, it would be a shame to lose you."

The game had changed.


	2. Maric 1

**Maric**

* * *

The stink of King's Landing was maddening; Maric Lannister of Lannisport noted this as his carriage rode through the filth thrown in the streets around him. People were out and about , women with baskets of fruit balanced perfectly on their heads, shirtless men walking around and leading mules up and down the streets that led to the top of Aegon's hill, Maric's destination.

"Have you ever been to King's Landing before?" asked the Tyrell handmaiden that had come to welcome Maric into the city. She was a beauty, with supple breasts, long chocolate covered hair, and eyes that shone like diamonds. Maric found himself distracted every time he looked at her, but retained his professionalism.

"No, m'lady," said Maric politely, with a cool smile.

"Its a very...interesting place," she responded, looking out the window. The air was surprisingly cool, but winter was on the verge of happening, so it made sense. Maric had been told it would get very hot while he was there, so hot that it would be stifling.

"I'm sure. This city has seen a lot of bloodshed in the last few months. The death of King Robert at the hand of his...Hand, the Battle of Blackwater, and the death of our poor King Joffrey."

"Indeed," despaired the handmaiden, "Joffrey was such a brave, noble lad."

Maric had heard the opposite, but he accounted it as mere slander and merely said, "Aye, I had heard he was. I never had the pleasure of meeting him. It is too bad I never will."

"Forgive me for being so bold," she said coyly, "But why are you here? In King's Landing?"

"I do not know myself, my lady," he said truthfully, "But one does not say no to the summons of Tywin Lannister. He is my liege lord of course."

"And very powerful, and rich," agreed the handmaiden, "He looks so severe to. Pardon me of course, it is not my place to speak of such things."

"Its quite alright," Maric said kindly, "I shall forget that. I share the same thoughts. But it looks like we are here."

The drawbridge of the castle creaked and opened, creating a stable bridge over the scummy, green water that was in the moat. The carriage continued into the keep, and two groups of Lannister soldiers flanked them, until the carriage came to a stop. Maric got out, exited and then came to the other side to let the Tyrell handmaiden come out.

"Thank you, m'lord," she said with a curtsy.

"You are most welcome my lady," he kissed her hand, "To whom do I owe the pleasure?"

"Marena, Marena of Highgarden. One of lady Margaery's retinue. I hope we will be seing more of eachother."

"I'm sure we will," said Maric, and watched as the buxom lass left. Maric had once had a life, any lord needed one, but she had died a long time ago, during the Greyjoy rebellion. She had not been the woman he had wanted, merely the woman he was obliged to marry, so he had shed little tears on her deathbed. She had borne him a son, but he had died of sickness soon after his birth. That had indeed been a blow. Since then, he had not remarried, and didn't plan on it. This boon allowed him to sample the many...fine delicacies that a Lord of the Lannisport Fleet was entitled to.

Only a few seconds later, an old man with a patchy snow-white beard and wearing simple roughspun robes was standing before Maric. "Lord Maric, it is good to see you have arrived."

Maric shook the man's hand and said, "You have me at a disadvantage..."

"Grand Maester Pycelle, at your service."

"Ah, that Grand Maester Pycelle. Well thank you."

"I hope you enjoyed your welcoming committee?"

Maric realized that it was this old man that had introduced him to the Tyrell girl, "Oh, yes indeed, that was quite thoughtful of you, you have my thanks."

"Of course. I wish we could have more time to get acquainted, but Lord Tywin was very clear that you were to meet him in the Tower of the Hand immediately upon arrival."

"Of course," replied Maric formally, "I will be up there in no time. Business must come first."

"Yes, that is how it is. Good tidings to you, Lord Maric."

Maric left the old man and was escorted by two Lannister men that showed him the way to the Tower of the Hand. He then was forced to climb up a prodigious set of steps and made his way to the top where he came to a wooden door flanked by two more Lannister men, their faces set in stone. "I'm expected," he explained, and with that, they let him pass.

Maric had met Tywin once before, and the Lord of Casterly Rock had not changed much since then.

The man still had eyes like a cold, conniving snake, and he said, "Maric Lannister, sit. We have much to discuss."

Maric immediately sat down without further questioning, "I am here to serve, my Lord."

"Excellent," said Tywin , not even looking up from his papers, "I have brought you here to serve as Commander of the King's fleet, to serve on the Small Council. I did not tell you previously, because I thought you might decline. But you wouldn't do that now that you are here now?"

To put it lightly, Maric was somewhat annoyed, but he kept on a steel face and said, "Of course. I have no family, no major lands and titles. The only thing that I had in Lannisport was the fleet. Moving here would allow me to have more responsibility and do a greater service for the realm," Maric lied.

"Of course," Tywin didn't seem to buy it, "My daughter put a sell-sail in command while I was in bed. This is unacceptable. You are to replace him. Tomorrow there will be a small council. I have already arranged a place for you here at the Palace, and all your comforts and desires will be taken care of. Do you require anything from Lannisport?"

"No m'lord," Maric replied, "I am thankful that you would trust in me this duty."

"You have served my house well. Right now, the war is coming to an end, so not much will be expected of you, I will not lie. But continue to due so and you will find living here is an improvement over Lannisport. Now I must attend to some more pressing matters. I will see you tomorrow at the Small Council, my lord."

"Of course, My lord," Maric got up and bowed, "Thank you, once again."

"You are welcome," said Tywin stiffly. Maric quickly stumbled on his way to leave.

As he left the room he realized that his Lord was correct, here he would have more gold, more power, and more connections than he had ever had in Lannisport. He smiled at the thought of more Tyrell girls to entertain him and realized he owed quite a bit to Tywin Lannister.

* * *

**Author's Note: Maric is an OC of my own creation. With the exception of Jaime (for reasons that will be apparent later), I will be staying away from viewpoints that Martin has already done, since I could never write them as good. **


	3. Tywin 2

**Tywin**

* * *

The Small Council had convened and it had started with a removal that was a surprise to everybody.

"I have deemed that Aurane Waters is not suitable for the position of Commander of the King's Fleet. I have removed him, and Maric Lannister, the commander of our Lannisport defense fleet, will take his place."  
Maric stood up. He was a charming man of thirty, with the last vestiges of youth still apparent on his face. It was smooth, with nary a hair upon it, and like all Lannisters he had hair the color of spun gold. Maric said, "Thank you, my Lord." Then he sat back down.

Tywin could see the look of fury on Cersei's eyes, but she managed to calm herself down and ask, "And who, pray tell, father, is in command of the defense of Lannisport now."

Tywin gave a look at Maric, signaling him to speak. "Ah yes," said Maric awkwardly, "I have spent years preparing my colleague and veritable protege Captain Gerris Hill for this takeover. Fear not, for he may be a bastard, but he is capable and ready to assume command. He has the loyalty of his men, my Queen."

_Careful you do not trip trying to kiss the queen's feet, _thought Tywin, but he continued, "As you can see, that is taken care of. Does anyone else have any objections to this?"

Gyles Rosbury the sickly minister of coin, coughed monstrously and said, "A Sell-sail has no place on the Small Council, My Lord is wise to do so."

Cersei's reaction to her man's betrayal was almost enough to make Tywin smile, but Tywin never smiled.

"Then lets get down to business."

The first matters at hand were simple matters of state, and the economic situation of the land. Through fits of coughing. Gyles Rosbury managed to convey that the throne still owed the Iron Bank of Braavos quite a bit of money, and that they were now helping Stannis Baratheon on the wall, in order to help him win the war to get their money back.

_Braavosi Fools, _he clucked his tongue, "The Braavosi obviously know nothing of patience, or of common sense. If they had given us a few months, we would have had enough money to begin a start on paying our debts. I had planned to divert funds from the military to them, and balance that out with my own money from Casterly Rock. But it seems as if that will not be necessary. The Braavosi are fools if they truly think Stannis Baratheon is even remotely a threat to us."

"Indeed," agree Maester Qyburn, "Stannis Baratheon's forces are still holed up at the wall, freezing to death."

"Good," said Tywin, "Send a Raven to Castle Black. Tell them that I will allow Stannis and half of his forces to take the black, otherwise they will be shown no mercy. The other half will be allowed to bend the knee or be executed. Of course, Stannis will never except such an offer, but it may provoke him to do something irredeemably stupid."

Everybody nodded in agreement, then Maric asked, "What is the situation at Dragonstone my lord? I had heard that the fleet there was slated to be under my command upon its return."

"Paxter Redwyne and his fleet are still held up there, and does not look like they will be winning that war any time soon. I have plans for that, but more pressing matters concern me. The Riverlands. Riverrun has not yet fallen, Brynden Tully remains stubborn. I will be sending my brother Kevan to deal with this intrusion. With the Riverlands secure, then we can focus on cementing our alliances, then dealing with Stannis Baratheon. If the cold hasn't killed him off by the time we get there."

Maric laughed at that, then slowly came to a grinding halt when everybody started looking at him. Then he put his head down and said, "Sorry, please continue."

Tywin glared at him for a second then continued as if nothing had happened, "Let us continue. The last major problem is...personal. Lord Varys, the spider, has not been seen since after my..." he spat out the word, "Son, was on trial. He remains a threat so long as he lives. Qyburn, Cersei has told me you have taken over many of the Spider's networks?"

"Yes my lord," the ex-maester said, "My spies are yours to command."

"Good, put them to use finding Varys and eliminating him. He is a traitor, but more than that, he is a dangerous traitor. For the meantime I am doubling the guard on all of us, and requiring passwords for any one to enter another's room privately. Until this matter is resolved."

Cersei seemed shocked once again, "But.."

"I suppose you have a better plan of protecting ourselves against a threat that is invisible?"

Everybody turned to look at her and she said, "Not yet, but are we content to let ourselves be caged like animals?"

"Yes, for the good of the realm."

"I agree," said Rosbury.

"As do I," agreed Maric, "I have heard already of this Spider in my short time here. He sounds like a very dangerous man. I do not fear him, though maybe I should."

"This is malign paranoia," said Cersei spitefully, "Varys most likely escaped to the Free Cities."

"Do not begin to assume you know anything of the Spider's motives and do not dare predict his actions. He is truly, unpredictable," said Tywin gravelly.

They all sat in silence until Tywin said, "Any last matters?"

"Ah yes," Qyburn said, pulling out a scroll, "I keep hearing news of a Three-headed Dragon from informants across the water. Not a real Three-headed Dragon, but a symbolic one."

Maric was the most surprised, "The Targaryens? But that's impossible."

"It could very well be," agreed Tywin flatly, "But still, ignorance is not something we can afford to have in the coming months. Have as many agents as possible pursue these rumors and ascertain them in their truthfulness."

"It will be done," said Qyburn wth a slight bow, "Oh and one more thing, apparently a Kraken, an actual kraken, sunk a ship off the Iron Islands. Not important I know, but still, interesting."

"The Greyjoys can handle that, they will get theirs once this war is over, though their claims to the North are being routed weekly, if the Boltons reports are anything to be believed. Alright, we are dismissed."

They all got up and bowed customarily, except for Cersei, who left with a scowl on her face.

_I'm sure I'll be seeing more of that, _thought Tywin.

Tywin returned to his chambers and then realized something. He sent a page to go find Grand Maester Pycelle, who came up fifteen minutes later, the age apparent on his face, his bones cracking with each step.

"Lord Tywin," said the man with a strained bow, "To what do I owe the pleasure."

"When they found me," began Tywin, "Bleeding at the hands of my son...what happened to the girl that was here, the one that had been sharing my chambers?"

Pycelle's eyes went wide, "She was killed. Strangled, most likely by the Imp."

The slightest of grins formed on Tywin's lips, forcing him to turn away from Pycelle a moment. Then he turned to the Grand Maester and said, "Unfortunate. I had been questioning her for information. How did they find her?"

"Naked and lying upon your bed, My Lord," explained Pycelle.

"Tyrion must have raped her then. Or promised to pay her more, then killed her during the act. Another vile thing my creature has committed. Goodnight, Maester Pycelle, that will be all."

* * *

**Author's Note: _In a coat of gold or a coat of red,__a lion still has claws._**


	4. Varys 1

**Varys**

* * *

The stench of the sea was pungent to the nose of the Spider, as he exited off the galley that had spirited him away to safety. The port of Pentos was quiet at night, or at least in that part, and little light was shown except on that of the lighthouse that looked over the harbor and the faint glow of candles in the windows of small buildings by the water. The water was calm and placid, and little noise was being made by the few people walking the port's streets. It was mostly odious beggars at that hour anyway. Varys was dressed in a dark black robe that was hooded, concealing his powdered face and bald head. There were some in Pentos that would not know his name, but could possibly recognize him.

Varys walked down a straight cobblestone road, then took a right into a tepid alley. Waste and rubbish was flung without a care in the world onto the dirt below. Rats scurried by and Varys paid no heed to the mongrel dogs that were poking around in the garbage. their fur tossed up and mangy. Varys passed by about a score of houses, then stopped, looked around, and as if finally realizing something very important. managed to figure out where he should go next.

It had been hard to see, the wooden door with the simply of a Spider on it; but Varys' eyes were sharp and managed to get a bead on it. He knocked three times upon the wood, and a second later, a slab of wood slid away upon the door, and a secretive blue eye appeared, glaring.

"Password?" said the voice belonging to the owner of the eye.

"Treachery," said Varys with a cruel grin.

The slab of wood closed up again and Varys heard the clicks and clatters of many a locking mechanism being activated and swung wide. Finally, the door opened and a hand beckoned the Spider in. He accepted and walked into a dark, musty room, with smoke causing an almost impenetrable fog all around.

Varys coughed then said, "I need to use the tunnel."

The man who had answered the door was short, not quite a dwarf, but close. He had a raggedy mop of brown hair, and was forty or so years old, with a rugged complexion and scars running across his shirtless chest. The main wore only a loincloth, and his skin was not quite peach, but more like a very light pecan. It hinted at Dothraki heritage.

"Toko is me. I will take you to the Master. But you must leave your weapons here."

Varys sighed with contempt. He only did as he was bid, because a simpleton like the Dothraki before him would not be able to understand that Varys posed no threat to his old friend, Illyrio Mopatis.

Only after Varys removed the lone dagger in its scabbard and hand it over to the Dothraki servant, was Varys allowed to enter the tunnel. "Watch yourself, bald man. It is very dark in here."

"You're not bringing a torch?" asked Varys in almost a whisper.

"Toko know the way well," the servant smiled and showed that half of his teeth were missing, and the rest were almost black, "Bald man doesn't. Hold on to me and you will be alright."

Varys did not find the idea of having to touch the grimy creature before him appealing, but he had no choice and clasped the servant' hand into his feminine own. The two of them slowly creeped their way through the tunnel, and barely said a word. Every now and then though Varys would hear noises above him, voices engaged in pleasure, voices laughing, voices crying, and it was then that the Spider knew that he was taking a tunnel underneath houses.

"Do you know who built this tunnel?"

"No, Toko does not have knowledge of this. But Toko knows that we are under many rich Pentoshi. Many rich Pentoshi with fat purses, yes yes."

Varys raised an eyebrow and said, "How did you get into Illyrio's service?"

"Not hard, Toko work as laborer for fat-man. Fat-man ask if Toko would watch tunnel. Not hard job. But must always be there. Toko does not have many friends."

"Regrettable," _I doubt you had much friends before_, thought the Eunuch to himself.

"Yes, yes Toko sad. But that not important. Let Toko and Bald-man continue."

The two of them continued to mime their way through the darkness. Varys would occasionally here the chitter of a rat near his foot, and once Toko screamed and said, "Bad rat bite Toko's foot. Bad rat! Bad rat!"

"I would advise you be quiet down here."

"Why, Toko and bald-man can not be heard by rich Pentoshi. But we can hear them, oh yes."

Finally, after a few more minutes, Toko grumbled and said, "We are here, bald-man, but Toko must open this barred door. One moment bald-man."

After a few grunts of exertion, Toko managed to remove a steel bar that dropped to the ground with a great clang. Then Toko opened the door, a stream of light appearing and forcing the Spider to squint his eyes. But he quickly adjusted and entered what appeared to be a great store room lit by torch sconces.

There were barrels of wine over on one side of the room, and great wheels of cheese were stacked upon each other. Cloves of garlic hung from the ceiling, their aromas filling up the room with a great sour stench that was not unwholly unwelcome. There were other spices, either on the ceiling or in great sacks. The floor was earthen, and it was welcome on the Spider's bare feet.

"The master is upstairs, the servants will show the bald-man up, Toko must remain in the tunnels, Toko is not welcome in the fat-man's manse."

Varys flung a gold piece at the Dothraki and said, "For your trouble."

"Master Bald-man is too kind," said the servant appreciatively, and with that he slunk back into the shadows.

Varys took account of his bearings then managed to carve a path through the endless stack of provisions and out. An Unsullied guard in full armor was waiting outside the door and tipped his head, obviously aware of his master's use of the room. The Unsullied spoke, which was surprising, and he said, "The Master will wish to see you in his reclining room, down the hall, first door on the left."

"Thank you, my good man," said Varys, and left the Unsullied as he was. Varys led himself down the halls, the floors inlaid with stone, and eventually made his way around the edge of a marble pool. A sculpture of a naked boy holding a sword, a sculpture of Illyrio himself when he was a youthful bravo. Varys smiled at the thought of the good old days, but continued on his way, as there was much business to attend to.

Remembering the Unsullied's instructions, Varys stopped himself on the first door on the left, and slowly entered the room. Sitting on a simple balcony over looking the garden, was Illyrio Mopatis. So fat that his fat folds were slipping over and under the arms of the chair like eels, the man turned his head and smiled, and said, "My old friend. This is unexpected."

The two of them got up to regard eachother with warm embraces, and Varys said, "Illyrio, it is good to see you. And in good health, I might add."

Illyrio roared with laughter at that and said, "Oh please, Varys, keep your honest about you. I am a walking slab of meat. However, let us not dwell on that, please, take a seat, have a fig, a date, some Arbor gold to wash it down hmmm?"

Varys accepted a cup and they began to talk into the night about pleasantries until Illyrio asked, "I did not expect you to return to Pentos so soon, what quickened your arrival?"

"The Lannister heir, Jaime, acted as I thought he would. However, the Imp, the one that I put into your care, did something rash that required me to leave."

"And that was?" said Illyrio with mild interest.

"Tyrion killed his father, Tywin Lannister, the Hand of the King. Surely you must have heard about it."

"I heard about the attempt, Varys," explained the fat man gravely, "But I also heard that he survived."

"He did?" said Varys, uninterested, "A pity. His death would have made things easier for our plans."

"Do our plans even remain intact? Tywin Lannister is not a man to be trifled with."

"No, but the land of Westeros is rife still with troubles, troubles we can easily manipulate with afar. Our course has not yet changed."

Illyrio clucked his tongue and asked, "Our cause remaining to be to return the Targaryens to the throne?"

"As it always has been my friend."

A flicker of uncertainty appeared on Illyrio's face, a face that was not used to revealing inner secrets, and Varys noticed. "You have concerns?"

"Only one small one. The Dragon Queen we have relied on to supply Aegon with an army still remains in Mereen. She seems content to just sit out all our little unimportant problems on Westeros and watch over the city of the Harpy with her armies. A bad move for her, since the harpies will wear her forces down with attrition."

"This is indeed troubling. We will need her forces at her best. Aegon can not hope to come back and reclaim the throne alone. Not with Tywin Lannister alive as you say."

"No," Illyrio shook his head, "The Golden Company are treacherous sell swords. Tywin Lannister has the power of Casterly Rock at his head. He can easily pay them double what we and...Griff could offer them."

"Undoubtedly," Varys said, and he looked to the garden for a moment of silence, then he said, "You got Tyrion on his way to her then?"

"Yes. He seemed quite eager."

"Excellent. If all goes well he can aid her in some small capacity, or large capacity, and maybe convince her to leave Mereen. The Golden Company will not wait."

"And if he can't?" asked Illyrio, his voice heavy with doubt.

Varys finished off his wine and started to pour another, "Then I will have to do it myself."

* * *

**Author's Note: Varys better have a POV in Winds of Winter, its about damn time!**


	5. Maric 2

**Maric**

* * *

Maric Lannister of Lannisport had been fingering the gold and emerald pin that Marena had given him when his carriage came to a stop. A Lannister guard, decked in steel and bearing the insignia of the lion, opened the carriage door and said, "We've arrived, m'lord."

Maric nodded and appreciated being called m'lord. Technically he was lowborn, even though his family had great power in Lannisport and had ties to the Lannisters of Casterly Rock. He merely said though, "Very good, lets go see these new dromons."

To strengthen their naval power, and prepare for a possible attackk by the Greyjoys or Stannis' remaining forces, Tywin Lannister had commissioned the building of six new Dromons, all of which would be named by King Tommen at the appropriate timing. Where the old Lion was getting all the gold for this, Tywin had no idea, but Maric supposed that he was having to actually use money from his own coffers for this. A wise investment, considering that the crown was in the hands of the Lannisters now, for the time being anyway.

The docks were smelly and crowded, and people hustled and bustled everywhere under the suspicious gaze of the Red Keep's towers. There were few guards, and they were hundreds of peasants in nothing more than dirty, soiled rags. Septons from the Order of the Sparrows were preaching in the streets. They were starting to become a problem, Maric had heard, as he passed through the crowd, dodging this way and that, and the High Septon was calling in the Crown's debts. If that problem was not dealt with soon, then Tywin Lannister might have a new enemy within the Faith, but that was none of Maric's concern, at least not yet.

Maric walked along the green, scummy water, and looked at piles of fish, mutilated and raw, their flesh making the air smell like rot. Finally, Maric got to the end of the pier and saw the six dromons under construction.

Maric knew little of shipmaking, which was ironic, given how much he knew about sailling and running a crew. But the Dromons were enormous, some of the biggest ships he'd ever seen. More than a match for at the least, five galleys from the Iron Islands. Maric realized even further how much he had been blessed to be brought out here, and even though it might cause him a small heart attack, honor dictated he would thank his master again.

A man with flowing silvery-blonde hair, wearing calf-skin sea boots, a leather vest and hat, the latter obscuring most of his face, sat on a chair nearby the closest Dromon. This was Aurane Waters, who Maric had replaced, but apparently the sell-sail had not been gotten rid of. Sell-sails were no better than privateers, which were in essence pirates. Maric did not trust them, in the least, and had killed many in his long career. They were at the least, easier to fight off than Krakens.

"Aye," said the bastard, with a customary nod.

"Aye," repeated Maric, "Why are you here?"

"I'm your first mate, for the moment anyway. Tywin said that my skill was good enough that I need not be completely discarded. But a Bastard cannot command a ship of the Royal Navy. Not one such as this."

Maric frowned then politely shook the man's surprisingly clean hand and said, "Very well, so I take it this is our ship?"

"Aye, Captain. It will be over two hundred and twenty feet abouts when it is completed, as you can see, we've got most of the lower decks completed, the top deck will be next, and sails are being brought up by sail from Lys as we speak. For all of them, of course."

"Excellent, how many oars on each?"

"For our ship, a hundred, fifty on each side. The others aren't as long as ours, so they have about eighty, forty on each side. We'll have a boost on them in ideal wind that's for sure. My speed estimate is about five knots, though I've heard you can reach faster, if you have the right men."

"Yes, about that, where are we getting our crew from?" inquired Maric.

"Well, the Battle of the Blackwater killed a large amount of the crown's sailors, unfortunately. I recruited about a hundred, a hundred and thirty men from my contacts in Lys, that's how I got recruited anyhow, and thank the Seven that I chose the winning side, because nobody thought that Stannis could be defeated, but I put my trust in Lannister gold."

"Fortunate for you," said Maric with a smile.

Aurane grinned, "Anyways, the rest, well we need over 1800 men for efficient running, but we're probably going to be short no matter what we do, so with the guard's help, we've impressed some criminals, some youth, refugees, Sparrows, and some men that were originally on Stannis' side, deserters. Not ideal, but we'll make do."

Maric didn't like the sound of that. Impressment was not someone should resort to, especially not in wartime. If your men are on the brink of mutiny, for serving on a ship that they didn't want to serve on, there was a good chance they would surrender your ship to the enemy, and if you were the Captain, like Maric was now, then it was a good choice Maric could find himself in a bunch of pieces at the bottom of the ocean if that situation happened. Maric shivered at the thought of it, but put it out of his mind. There was nothing he could do about it now, he'd just have to try and set a good example for his new sailors.

Then he asked, "So you have any idea what we're going to do with this fleet once its done?"

"I know for sure that three of them are going to be patrol ships, to defend the bay," answered the Sell-sail, pouring a small glass of cheap wine into a wooden cup, "But..for the others. I'm not sure. My money would be on supporting the siege at Dragonstone, or possiby going after ships bringing Stannis supplies at the Wall. But that doesn't seem to be necessary for building new Dromons."

Aurane looked at the men building the ship, and listened to the thump of hammers upon nails, and the sound of saws cutting through planks of wood. Then he said, "I think its more about security, and sending a message. Right now, the Throne's only enemies are Stannis Baratheon, and the Greyjoys. For now anyway. Tell me, have you ever fought a man that believes in the Drowned God?"

"Once, and I don't want to do it again."

"Neither do I. I was but a young lad when the Greyjoys sacked Lannisport. The fires blazed bright and hot, and I only survived by jumping into the bay, and thank the Seven that I could swim. I got a burn on my leg though, I still have it too."

Maric pulled up his pant leg, and revealed an area of slightly dead flesh, gray and wrinkled. Aurane nodded, and then pointed at a large gash running down near the burn mark, "What's that?"

"Oh that? Sharkbite. Went for a swim once as a lad too, off the coast of Dorne. Shark bit me. I don't flaunt it, cuz it was only a baby," Maric laughed loud, and so did Aurane. Maric was beginning to like this Sell-sail.

* * *

Later that day, Maric returned home to the Red Keep to the arms of his favorite woman at court, Marena. After they spent an hour or so making love, they laid together in Maric's bed. Maric simply stroked her chocolate-brown hair rythmically until she finally fell asleep. Despite himself, Maric was well aware that he was becoming attached to this serving girl, even though her only job was to entertain him in her capacity. Still, as Maric listened to her quiet, child-like snores, he was quite convinced that he was now in paradise. What had he done to make the gods love him so?

While he was thinking about this, and whether or not he should got to sleep himself, a knock came on the door. Since he was unclothed, Maric slowly removed Marena from his arms, so that she would not wake, and quickly, but silently, ran over to his wardrobe, and pulled out a bathrobe made of wool, with the Lion on the right side of its chest. Marena then woke up and said drousily, "Huh?" whilst clutching a blanket to herself to protect her modesty.

"Go back to sleep, my lady, its just a visitor."

Marena yawned and said, "Yes, my lord."

Maric opened the door and found a member of the Kingsguard, Ser Boros Blount at his door. According to rumors, the man was considered a craven, and in punishment, had to taste all of the King's meals to protect him from poison. The man was bald, had a flat nose and face, and what little hair he had was a kind of tawny gray. The man was not pretty, and he was also shorter than Maric, having bandy legs.

"Ser Boros, what can I do for you?"

"The Queen wishes to speak to you," the man said, his tone bored.

"Which Queen?"

"Lady Margaery, m'lord."

"Oh of course, I will be there as soon as possible."

"I will escort you to her when you are...properly dressed."

Embarassed, Maric said, "Yes, yes, give me some privacy will you? That's a good man."

Quickly, he put on his best doublet and breeches, and went to go meet the Queen. What she wanted, he had no clue. It was possible she wanted to speak to him about his relationship with Marena. After all, Marena was no more than sixteen years old, and was supposed to be completely at the beck and call of the Tyrells. Maybe Margaery wanted her handmaiden back, or maybe it was something else. But, there was no refusing the summons of a Queen.

Boros led him to a balcony room that the Royal family sometimes used for eating meals. The sun had just set, so candles had been lit and emanated a soft glow all around. Sitting at the table were only five people, eating a meager meal of baked fish and loaves of bread. These were Queen Margaery, King Tommen, two handmaidens, and another member of the Kingsguard, Ser Loras Tyrell.

Margaery was a beauty, there was no doubt about that, but for some reason, Maric still thought Marena was more comely, maybe because he knew very well he had no chance with the Queen, or maybe because Margaery was "too" perfect. She had curly brown hair, a slender shape that still had room for curves, and that night she wore green with a small cape that trailed behind her, also green.

The King of the Seven Kingdoms, the young Tommen Baratheon, was a short, fat boy with curly blonde hair, very similar to Maric. In fact, Maric looked at the boy and saw a little of himself, though saying so would do little to curry favor here.

Ser Boros left Maric's side when they entered the room, to stand aside Loras Tyrell. The young man was certainly the very image of what a Knight should be, whether or not he lived up to those ideals, Maric had no way of knowing. The lad was extremely handsome, with curly brown hair, the same kind as his sister's, eyes the color of gold, and skin that was flawless and without imperfections. The gods had certainly blessed Loras Tyrell.

Maric bowed before the Queen and gently kissed her hand and said, "I am yours to command, my Queen." Then he bowed before Tommen and said, "As well as you, your Grace."

"Thank you," said Tommen, bored, and he went back to what he was doing before, playing with his pudding. Margaery ignored this and stated, "Lord Maric Lannister, I do not believe we have met yet."

"No, we have not, my apologies, you truly are as beautiful in person as everyone says," Maric knew how to butter people up.

"Why thank you," said Margaery, "That is kind of you to say. I called you up here to ask you a favor, if you would not be too busy for it."

Maric said with gusto, "Of course not my Queen, anything you wish, it will be done if it is within my power."

"Good. I have a mind to take Tommen and my retinue for a sailing excursion, to see the sea and such, as my husband has not had the opportunity, because of the war and many other pressing matters. If you would be so kind as to get us a ship and captain it for a day, that would be most good."

Maric nodded, "Of course, when do you wish to go? One of the new Dromons will be ready within the week."

"Splending, next week, on this same day, we will go. I thank you for being so available."

"Not a problem, my Queen."

"I want to go fishing!" interjected Tommen.

Margaery laughed and Maric flashed a smile, "Of course your Grace. I will have some fishing poles acquired, I'll even teach you myself."

"That would be wonderful," said Margaery.

"It would be my pleasure."


	6. Tywin 3

**Tywin**

* * *

_Dear Tywin Lannister, Warden of the West and Hand of the King, servant of our most esteemed King Tommen Baratheon I, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms,Protector of the Realm, King of the Andals, Rhoynar and the First Men,_

...the letter began...

_I, Doran Martell, Prince of Dorne, humbly wish to write to you in order to pledge our further allegiance in these ongoing hostilities. As of most of the war, we have stayed out of the fighting, communication not allowing to know truly of the extent of the hostilities..._

...Tywin doubted that but he paid no heed. Lame excuses were always present in politics, to cover one's back...

_But now we wish to confirm that we have no intentions of causing any further discord for our liege, King Tommen I. The death of Oberyn Martell was a grieveous loss, and we have mourned for him, but his actions were his alone, and were not condoned by me or anybody else at court. We will not cause any trouble based on this, and to show you we mean our words, we will be shipping you over five thousand troops to Dragonstone, at the same time we send back Princess Myrcell and Prince Trystane to visit King's Landing. _

_Humbly your servant,_

_Prince Doran I of Dorne._

"Unexpected," said Tywin, though no surprise was on his lips.

Grand Maester Pycelle looked to be falling asleep, his eyes facing the floor, so Tywin frowned and snapped his fingers in irritation, "Maester Pycelle?"

"Huh? Oh, a thousand apologies my lord, I seem to have dozed off...I'm not as young as I used to be."

"I said, it was unexpected. Or do I need to read this over again?"

"No my lord," Pycelle said meekly, "I heard most of the important bits."

"Yes. I can see no other motive, especially not with him sending the young Prince Trystane with him as well. That means they've come to their senses, and will support us in the end. I would judge them harshly, but their strategy is impeccable, the same...that I had done, in the war against Aerys. They waited to know that they would be joining the wining side, as did I many years ago. I can respect that, though they are no more our friends than Stannis is. But they are more reasonable, for the time being."

"As you say, my Lord. What will the response be?"

"Thank them for their patronage and so forth. Inform Paxter Redwyne of this troop deployment. I believe it is time for this siege to come to an end, as well as the one at Storm's End, with those two taken care of, we can focus on bringing back the Iron Islands and the Wall under our control."

"Your plan, my Lord?"

"Send in..." Tywin paused and thought for a moment, "Send in my son."

"Ser Jaime?"

"Do I have any other sons about the castle?" Tywin asked angrily.

Pycelle shuddered and said timidly, "No, my Lord Hand."

"Yes, Jaime, and be quick about it."

Ten minutes passed, then Jaime Lannister walked in. His hair was starting to grow back into its usual long mane, though it still had a bit of a ways to go. Jaime had gotten his severed hand replaced with a fake bronze hand that he wore for ceremony, but wasn't good for much in real combat situations. Tywin had seen his son, from the window in his room, sparring with the King's Justice Ilyn Payne at night, trying to get into the habit of using his last remaining arm, and it was slow going. Tywin had seen his son bruised and poked with Payne's sword many times.

Jaime did a curt bow and said, "My Lord Hand, what do you need?"

Tywin said, "Sit, we have something important to discuss."

Jaime did as he was bid, and Pycelle brought him a cup of wine. Tywin then began, "The Martells have finally decided to throw in their lot with us, as I expected they would once the outcome was clear. Now our enemies our down one. It is time Dragonstone and Storm's End were taken. I am sending you to Dragonstone. You will command the forces there with the aid of Paxter Redwyne, and end this before the first snow."

Jaime was stunned. Tywin saw his son glance quickly at his decapitated hand, as if that would excuse him from duty. Jaime asked, in a voice no more than a whisper, "Why me?"

Tywin got up and walked to the window, looking out to the Blackwater bay and said, "You are the Lord Commander of the Kingsguard are you not? Barristan Selmy went out into the field more times than I could count, so why not you?"

"I am no tactician, and my severed sword arm makes me less than useless in a fight. I know why you want to send me. You want to get rid of me, for refusing your demands."

Jaime did not fear death, Tywin knew that, but he did understand betrayal, and hated that at its core. Tywin said coldly, "What would I have to gain from that? Do you take me for your sister, who puts so much on petty revenge? Get out of my sight, you will go to Dragonstone, as the Kingsguard Commander, or I will have your head for disobedience to the Crown. There can be no talk of betrayal when we are so close to victory."

Jaime glowered at his father, and then said, "As you command, my Lord Hand."

The Commander of the Kingsguard left the room in a storm, his white cape billowing.

Maester Pycelle looked somewhat taken aback, and Tywin reassured him, "All is fine, Maester Pycelle. We have one more thing to take care of."

"What would that be my Lord?"

"Send a raven to Castle Stokeworth. Tell that upjumped Sellsword, we need someone to take Storm's End, someone who has experience. Tell him we'll make it worth his while."


	7. Shagga 1

**Shagga**

* * *

The clansman felt cold, but did not shiver. He was above such petty feelings. He was a man, through and through, an accomplished warrior, honed through battle and armed with steel that he had stolen from the camps of the Lion Lord, and then from the Stag Lord of the Burning Heart. The plunder had been good, the rewards of working for the Little Lion Lord were great. But they had been cut off. All of those rewards had been betrayed by the Lion Lord himself, and they had been forced to flee. Now they were marauders of the Kingswood, beset by a sudden outbreak of peace, they had not know in their lifetime.

And now, Shagga, son of Dolf, was being called by Lord Bronn of the Blackwater, like some mongrel bitch.

He walked up into Stokeworth Hall, the sun still only now just rising, the servants in their dandy clothes, a sign of both opulence and weakness, roiling from the stench and sight of these barbarians. The Stonecrows were indeed tough bastards, and raiders that few had ever seen, and nobody would dare stop their ascent. Through the great oak doors, without even touching the bronze knockers in the shape of lambs, he paraded into Bronn of the Blackwater's halls, like a victorious champion returning home from war.

Bronn was waiting there, the same wolfish look upon his face, only now he was wearing a lord's clothes, and was wearing a lord's armor, steel plate, and underneath that, a shirt of mail. Bronn smiled, a confident smile above his small, stubbly brown beard. Bronn put his hands outstretched wide, and said, "Glad you could make it, Shagga, son of Dolf."

Shagga spat into a nearby potted plant, his mud and shit stained boots leaving marks on the fine wooden floors of Bronn's hall. He roared, "If it had been anyone else, any other weakling lord, I would have come to plunder your hall and take your women for mine own. But you...you have fought with me. And therefore I will let you speak, before I decide whether or not I should smash in your brains with my axe."

Bronn didn't look at all alarmed, but his servants looked mortified. One of them, a small, young man with pale skin and coal-black hair, was quivering in his leather boots. One of Shagga's men, Rugmy, went up to the craven and snarled up in his face, putting his mouth up to the craven's own, then snapped his teeth. The servant cowered in feel, and fell to the ground, pissing himself as he did so. Shagga's men all hooted in laughter, and Shagga smiled.

"I would like it if you did not harass my servants," said Bronn politely, the smile not yet gone from his face.

Shagga recalled his man, and cuffed him on the ear as he rejoined the others. Shagga said, "What do you want?"

"More better question would be, do you want more plunder?

"Is this a trick? We got plunder from the Little Lion Lord to be sure. But ever since his father returned from the war...we Stonecrows had all our favors removed. We were cast out, with only the weapons we had been given. How can we trust that we will get a...fair deal?

"Because..." said Bronn haughtily, "I'm in charge."

"In charge of what?"

"In charge of a siege, and a small army. My friend, I am being put in charge of taking Storm's End. Surely you have heard of the castle of the Lightning Lords?"

Shagga nodded thoughtfully, "I have."

Shagga had heard other stories as well though, of a citadel that rivaled that of Oldtown and the Eyrie, where few had taken it, and was impenetrable from the sea. It was the seat of all power in the dreaded Stormlands. Shagga's father had said he was going to the Stormlands to plunder long ago, but he had never returned.

"Then you know that there is plunder to await. I need men I can trust. You...will have to do. These Lannisters might very well be hoping I get killed off in the siege, rid themselves of one...upjumped sell-sword."

"You are still one of them," said Shagga, "Shagga is still a Stonecrow."

"Aye," said Bronn proudly, "And a bloody fine warrior. So what will you say, will you and your men join me?"

Shagga thought about for a moment and then said, "We will take it...if we get twenty percent."

"Done," said Bronn.

That was too easy, "Twenty percent and all the lowborn maids we can carry off."

Bronn chuckled and picked up an apple, crunching on the white flesh inside, "Also done. Anything else?"

Too easy again. There had to be something to make Bronn squirm. So he asked, "Where is the Half-man?"

"Ran off. To where, I do not know. If I had to guess, probably Pentos, Braavos, maybe Lys."

"Alright, for our final price, if you learn of the Half-Man's location, you must inform us. So we can go forth to him, and get our revenge for his betrayal."

Bronn looked askance, "It was not him that betrayed you. It was Lord Tywin."

"I know, but Tyrion was not Hand of the King when he hired us, Lord Tywin let him keep us then. He should have stood for us, we were enjoying the fruits of our labor when we were thrown from the castle."

"Aye," agreed some of the others in unison.

Bronn looked at them in silence and said, "Done. Shall we shake on it."

The two locked their hands between themselves and Shagga roared, "What are we waiting for! We have a castle to siege!"


End file.
